


The Weather Outside is Frightful

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Gen, Leverage Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2019, Lucille to the rescue, helping hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: Nate assures the team that there's no way Portland will get enough snow to be worried about.He is, to put it mildly, incorrect.Mild shenanigans ensue!
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27
Collections: Leverage Secret Santa Exchange (Mod Gifts)





	The Weather Outside is Frightful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyjax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/gifts).



“The weather channel app is predicting at least a foot of snow,” Hardison says, frowning down at his phone.

Nate scoffs, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“This is Portland. There’s no way we get more than an inch or two of snow these days, max.”

“I don’t know,” Parker says, leaning against the counter and tilting her head thoughtfully. “It definitely smelled like snow when I was outside.”

“Global warming,” Nate says, waving one of his hands dismissively. One half of the newspaper droops as he does so, and he scoffs again before picking it up.

“I know you know how climate change actually works, Nate,” Hardison says. “It’s…”

“It’s a cycle,” Nate interrupts before the rant can begin, “I know. I just don’t think we’re getting a foot of snow.”

“We’ll seeee,” Parker says in a sing-song voice.

In the end, Nate is right, but not in the way he expects. As evidenced by half the city losing power, and the temperatures dropping to below freezing, after not one, but three feet of snow has hit the ground.

“This is your fault,” Eliot says, glaring at Nate even as the final rays of daylight are setting, leaving the office in an eerie red glow.

“How is this possibly my fault?” Nate asks.

“You taunted the snow gods,” Parker says.

“There was a little taunting,” Hardison agrees.

“I wasn’t even there, and I believe that,” Sophie says.

“There’s no such thing as snow gods,” Nate huffs. “This is just a surprisingly bad snowstorm. For Portland.”

“It’ll be fine,” Nate says, shrugging. “We have a generator, and plenty of space and food for a night here in the office.”

An eerie howl of wind sounds as he says it, rattling the entire office and smacking what sounds like hail against the windows.

“Hmm,” Nate amends. “That does sound a little bit concerning.”

After the team has fortified the windows the best they can with cardboard and masking tape, they determine they’re probably safe enough for the night.

“Turn off all the lights except for the ones here,” Eliot says, gesturing to the common area with the couches. “So the generator can keep up.”

“On it,” Parker says, dashing off to check all the lights and any other unneeded electronics that can be unplugged.

“Everyone have a full charge on their phone?” Hardison asks. “Not that there’s a signal right this second, but the towers have to come back up eventually.”

The others nod their confirmation and Parker calls out a yes from the other room.

Nate falls asleep halfway through the movie Hardison pulls up on his non-emergency laptop, making Parker laugh at his stereotypical dad tendencies.

“I hope the shelters were able to get everyone safe for the night,” Hardison says, seemingly apropos of nothing.

“Oh dear,” Sophie says, “I hadn’t even thought about that. It’s not usually an issue here.”

“All those homeless people who hang out downtown,” Parker says, frowning.

“Hmm,” Eliot says, sharing a look with Hardison as he considers it.

“How are the tires on Lucille?” he asks Hardison, who grins in response.

“All-weather terrain, baby,” he responds, pumping a fist in the air.

Sophie and a groggy Nate hold down the fort and stay behind to prepare as Eliot, Parker, and Hardison head out in Lucille, armed with spare blankets and flashlights. Thankfully, most of the homeless people do seem to have made it to shelter, but they pick up an older man who is shivering along a storefront wall, his thin jacket doing little to protect him from the snow and wind.

“Thanks,” he says, once he’s bundled in a blanket and in the van, “I’ve never seen it like this out here before.”

“No problem,” Hardison says from the driver’s seat. “If you don’t have anywhere else, you can come back with us and at least dry off and get something warm to eat, ok?”

“I promise we’re not serial killers,” Parker says earnestly, causing Eliot to snort in amusement and Hardison to sigh deeply.

“That’s exactly the kind of thing a serial killer would say,” he says, shaking his head.

The older man, to his credit, pays them no mind and just focuses on warming up his shriveled hands.

By the end of their slow loop around the city, they’ve picked up a fortunately unharmed mother and two small children whose car skidded onto an ice patch and into a cement barrier, a lone goth young man who had gotten stranded at the mall when he couldn’t get an uber home, and a pair of college aged girls who were clearly enjoying an early happy hour before all hell had broken loose. They’d been found teetering on their heels in the snow outside of a bar, too drunk to realize that frostbite was a very real concern.

“You really shouldn’t just follow strange men into vans,” Eliot says to them, as they follow him into the van.

“You’re totally right,” the brunette girl says, giggling. “But also, like, it’s snowing out.”

“It really is,” her friend, the redhead, says, with awe in her voice. “I’ve never seen snow in person!” she exclaims excitedly, lurching sideways as the van slides slightly, somehow landing with her head in Parker’s lap.

She looks up at Parker and smiles dopily. “You’re pretty,” she says, before closing her eyes and deciding Parker’s lap was a fine place for a nap.

Parker looks up at Eliot, who is sitting across from her, ignoring the increasingly flirtatious body language of the drunken brunette. He just looks back at her and shrugs.

“At least yours is sleeping,” he says, gesturing dramatically to the woman beside him as he inches away from her, again.

From Parker’s other side, the young mother snickers, her little twins each tuckered out against either side of her own lap.

“We’re almost there,” Hardison says. The older man they’d picked up first is in the passenger seat, just content to be warm and not serial-killed.

By the time they all amble into the office, it’s well past 8pm. Sophie welcomes everyone with a warm smile and a fluffy and dry bath towel for each of them.

“Good news,” Nate says, eyeing the scruffy looking group, “Is that the shower runs on gas, not electric. So anyone who needs a hot shower can have it, as long as it’s quick.”

“We have a bunch of sweats, too,” Sophie adds. “They’re a little… on the cheap side, but they will be warmer than those soaked-through clothes.”

Unsurprisingly, the older homeless man, Bob, takes them up on the offer of a hot shower, after offering first place in line to the mother and children. The mother declines the shower offer, but accept the bundles of clothing with a grateful smile, letting Parker lead her and the kids into another room so they can all change in private.

“I’m Rita,” she says before Parker leaves them to it. “And these two sleepy heads are Lily and Rose.”

The twin girls look up at their names from where they were clinging to Rita’s legs.

“Hi,” one of them says, while the other looks away shyly.

“They’re 4,” Rita says, shrugging, “and a little shy sometimes.”

“I’m Parker,” Parker says, and waves at the little girls with a smile. “Take all the time you need,” she says, before heading out and clicking the door shut after her.

Meanwhile, much to the Nate’s horror and to the goth boy’s delight, the drunken girls are stripping down to their underwear right in the common area, ready to be warm and cozy in the borrowed sweats.

“I mean,” Eliot drawls, coming over to lean against the counter next to Nate. “We picked them up at a bar, so they must be at least 21, right?”

Nate just gives him a sideways look.

“I’m not gonna do anything!” Eliot defends. “But you can’t blame a man for looking at what’s right in front of him!”

“I’m with him,” the goth boy says from where he’s huddled on one of the couches, still wrapped up in a big towel over his wet clothes. He’s tall, well over six feet, and comically bent up against himself to try and get warm.

“Man, get your wet ass off my couch,” Hardison says, rolling his eyes slightly. Teenagers. “Here,” he says, tossing the boy a bundle of sweats. “It’s all I could find left in our spares that would fit you, sorry.”

The boy take the bundle and looks up at Hardison with horror. His eyeliner is just rivers of black over his cheeks now, and he clutches the soft blue and green clothing as if it might strike him at any moment.

“Pastels?”

“Well I didn’t know a seven foot goth would be visiting,” Hardison says, shrugging. “We normally only have clothes in our size, and even my pants would be capris on you.”

“I’m six foot six,” he mumbles, “not seven feet. And my name is Owen.”

“One day in colors won’t kill you, Owen, I promise,” Hardison says, gesturing to the open bathroom door that Ben can change in. “We won’t tell any of your friends.”

After a moment, he boy shrugs and nods, getting up and heading towards the bathroom to change.

“Excellent parenting,” Sophie says once the bathroom door is closed, with only slight sarcasm.

“I try,” Hardison replies, nonplussed. “Kids these days.”

Parker snickers from where she’s stirring a big pot of hot chocolate that Eliot had left her in charge of keeping not-burnt once she had shown Rita where to change.

Eventually, everyone is showered and/or changed and gathered on the various couches and chairs that the team had pulled into the common area to accommodate the group.

Owen is charging his phone up from one of Hardison’s battery packs, shockingly young looking now that the makeup has been washed off from his shower. There’s still no cell signal, but at least the phone will be alive once there is.

Bob is stretched out in Nate’s recliner, fast asleep, a blanket tucked over him snugly. The drunken girls, Ginger and Samantha, are sobering up, sipping their hot chocolate drinks and slowly becoming aware of their surroundings.

Rita’s twins have gotten a second wind and decided that the best game in the whole world is letting Eliot take turns tossing each of them onto the oversized beanbag Hardison had dragged in.

“I’m flying!” Lily whoops out as she sails through the air.

“Me next!” Rose says, jumping up and down excitedly.

On the other side of the beanbag, Hardison waits and grins, ready to catch any wayward flying children if Eliot tosses them too far.

“I should probably be concerned that my babies are being voluntarily tossed like horseshoes by two grown men,” Rita says to Parker, slumping down on the couch next to her. “But it’s been a really long day.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to get back to Seattle in a day or two,” Parker says.

“Here’s hoping,” Rita says, raising her mug of cocoa carefully to gently clink with Parker’s.

By eleven, the twins are passed out on the bean bag, curled around each other like adorable kittens. Rita just shrugs and accepts the blanket that Eliot gives her, before curling up beside them, ready for the sleep of the dead.

Ginger has taken a shining to Owen, and is showing him her World of Warcraft character after hearing him mention the game to Hardison earlier.

“That’s cool,” Owen says, grinning at her with stars in his eyes.

“Not a chance, kid,” Samantha says. “You’re like fourteen. Even if you are seven feet tall.”

“Six foot six,” Hardison corrects, earning him a small smile from Owen.

“And I’m fifteen,” Owen says. “I can almost drive!”

“You’re adorable,” Ginger says, pinching one of his cheeks in demonstration.

Owen sighs.

“Good news, everyone,” Sophie says, holding up her phone. “Mobile service seems to be back up. And the news is saying the roads should be safe to drive by tomorrow afternoon.”

Quiet cheers fill the room, mindful of the sleeping children, and Bob.

“I’ll make pancakes for everyone in the morning,” Eliot says, chuckling when one of twins sleepily yells out “yesss” from the beanbag.

“But for now,” Nate says. “Everyone get some sleep.”

Nobody has to be told twice, and soon everything is still and quiet and calm.

By the time everyone is awake and stuffed full of pancakes the next morning, the roads are finally deemed safe to use again, and a tiny blonde woman is knocking at the door, looking for Owen.

“This your mom?” Hardison asks as he opens the door, letting her in when Owen nods.

Parker looks at the nearly two foot height difference between mother and son and cringes, before looking over at the woman.

“I am so sorry about your entire….pelvic region,” she says, earnestly.

“Parker!” Sophie says, aghast. But Owen’s mom just laughs.

“He was a c-section, thankfully.”

“Moooom,” Owen whines, sulking.

“Come on, kiddo,” she says. “I can’t wait till your dad sees this outfit, it’s gonna be hilarious.”

Owen slumps and follows her out, before remembering his manners at the last minute.

“Thank you,” he says to the group. “I’m glad I didn’t have to be alone during that storm.”

He’s gone before the others can do more than wave, but the sentiment is appreciated all the same.

Everyone files out shortly after that, with thanks and with hugs from Ginger.

“She’s a hugger,” Samantha sighs, tugging her friend along towards the waiting Uber outside. 

Rita and the twins leave after enthusiastic goodbye hugs from the girls to Hardison and Eliot, a friend able to come by and get them now that the roads are clear.

Finally, there’s only Bob left, who is pulling on his worn out sneakers over the thick socks Nate had given him.

“Well,” he says, genially looking around at all of them. “Can’t thank you all enough for keeping me alive last night. Truly, thank you.”

“Of course,” Nate says, just as Hardison’s phone pings and he nods at Nate.

“It’s still too cold out to be on the street though,” Nate continues. “So, Eliot’s going to show you to your taxi, and you’re going to spend the next week at the La Quinta, on us.”

Bob’s eyes go wide.

“That’s too much,” he says. “I appreciate the place to crash last night, and the dry clothes. But I’m not trying to take advantage of anyone.”

“We have plenty of money for La Quinta,” Hardison assures him. “And they have a free buffet breakfast every morning. And a heated pool.”

Bob takes in the information, overcome with emotion.

“I guess a week inside would be pretty nice,” he concedes. “Thank you.”

He follows Eliot out and then finally, there are none.

“We’re not letting him go back to living on the street, right?” Parker asks once she’s sure the man is out of earshot.

“Of course not,” Sophie answers. “We’ll just need to figure out the best way to help him.”

“Once we figure out what happened to make him homeless in the first place,” Nate adds.

“And once we know where the strain is,” Sophie says, grinning over at Parker.

“We’ll know where to apply the leverage,” Nate finishes.

Once everything is cleaned up and sorted back into order, Nate settles down into his chair and takes a long sip from his coffee mug.

“Now please,” he says. “All of you go home and let me drink my coffee in peace.”

“Not a chance,” Parker snorts. “It’s our home too.”

“It’s really not, actually,” Nate points out, to no avail.

He gives up eventually and leans back in his chair, hiding his begrudging grin behind another sip of coffee. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all. Portland proper shuts down with like three inches of snow. Believe me when I tell you that three feet would absolutely raise this amount of hell.


End file.
